


A Record of Origins

by Camlann



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Gen, Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 19:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camlann/pseuds/Camlann
Summary: In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.Not just anyone can become a Grey Warden, though they take who they can get. Sometimes it is those that have nowhere else to go, who would find themselves imprisoned or dead should they return without those griffins across their chest. These are the men and women that stand in the shadows, that watch and wait for their time.But some, oh some of them are meant for greater things.Some are meant to be heroes, some are meant to be legends.





	A Record of Origins

The Soldier and the Seawolf isn’t sung at their wedding, as much as Bryce attempts to have it so. Eleanor refuses to allow it and her glare puts the poor bard in their rightful place when they dare to start the melody. Her husband finds it humorous, of course, but he defers to what makes his wife comfortable. It’s the least he can do and it’s a little thing for someone he loves, someone who can and will beat him into submission on the training field if required. She still can, mind you, but he has stopped testing it after all these years. He doesn’t need to remind his sons that their mother is strong -- they know and they fear her disapproval just as much as he does. It is better for them to realize that they have to look everywhere for good and strong folk, whether woman or man, elf or dwarf or human.

That does not mean that the merry tale is not sung behind the teyrna’s back, however, as much as she has succeeded in quieting it in the halls of the castle.

Good-natured and raucous, the song springs up in taverns all over Highever whenever there is cause for celebration. The Couslands are well liked by the people, after all. Having persevered so long in the area, their reputation for justice, temperance, and willingness to lead others into battle precedes their every move. To have such a rowdy tale of their fine leaders first meeting would never go unnoticed or ignored.

> _When the soldier met the Mistral’s crew_  
>  _Not a word of their great deeds he knew_  
>  _And the Seawolf he took for a servant lass_  
>  _Great Andraste, what an ass!_

So it wasn’t sung at their wedding and it’s not sung at any event they host. Today though, today is going to be an exception. Bryce murmurs each verse to a bundle in his arms, rocking gently to keep bright eyes that mirror the color of his own upon him instead of the autumn colors outside the window. He sings softly and without laughing, giving the ballad rounder tones and a vivid emphasis on the Seawolf’s strength and poise. He sings it to a little girl new to the world and already entirely like her mother from the way she glared at the healer that had taken her away to be washed earlier, the growl she gave small but fierce.

He’s familiar with Mac Eanraig women and he’s proud to say that his daughter has that blood in her veins, is as much a part of their legacy as his own. Already he can feel the power in her, wonders if perhaps the Maker has blessed her with a spirit that is older than it should be for such a tiny babe, and feels as if he’s holding someone who will place their mark on the world. Maybe not today, but someday, and Bryce smiles down at his daughter as she reaches out to grasp onto a finger. It’s not his, but it’s good to see the siblings already getting along.

He’d felt the same way when he held Bentley. Perhaps it was just that his youngest children, almost two years apart, were unexpected blessings. Fergus could hardly stand it, he was so excited to have now two siblings to teach how to wield a sword.

“Welcome to the world, Reyna Avonlea Cousland,” Bryce murmurs, pressing his lips to her forehead before he sets his hand down on top of the head of his youngest son who has had his finger stolen by his sister. At his age, Bentley doesn’t fully understand what is happening, but he’s stayed by his father’s side through it all. Now he sleeps, curled up in the sun and waiting patiently for Fergus to come collect him. He’ll be waiting for a bit longer, Bryce thinks, as his eldest is with their mother or off creating havoc somewhere in his excitement. Aldous warns them about it often, how Fergus is always searching out trouble, but Bryce isn’t worried.

He’s a Cousland. They all are. They will come into their own, eventually.

“One day, you’ll find your sea legs lass, but until then… we’ll make sure you know how to plant your feet on solid ground. Welcome home.”

\--- ---

_Fortune favors the bold._

Their crest doesn’t say _quite_ those exact words, but that’s what it roughly translates to from ancient Alamarri, according to their records. What a stack of records it is too, each page brimming with names, connections, and even some family trees so that they can prove where they come from. Books filled with tales of battles and unification fill their library almost to the ceiling and if one added the tomes in the chapel where births, deaths, and proclamations of faith were held, there is enough to get buried under. No one ever asks them to prove anything, of course, but it is all there. Just in case.

Only, that’s not quite right either. They are asked to prove multiple things, it’s just none of them have anything to do with their standing in Highever and Ferelden as a whole. For instance, their tutor expects them to listen and repeat until they can cite any historical or family reference he needs them to. This means they are always reciting something, sometimes in the middle of the courtyard and sometimes in the private of the study. Mother Mallol asks them to repeat verses and the Chant whenever she can. Of course, that’s mostly on holy days where they’re wearing stiff collared clothing and trying not to melt into the floor from the heat. Nan expects them to be certain places at certain times and not cause too much fuss. Well, that and to always listen to her, no questions asked.

Mother and father expect that they make them proud. So far, so good there at least.

True or not though, those few words and the record of them have followed the family for generations and Reyna stares up at them now, etched above the doorway to their living quarters. If she hadn’t been told since birth what it meant, she’d never have known, the language above the door as foreign to her as Orlesian. Not that she didn’t understand some Orlesian, don’t get her wrong, but the way it dripped on her tongue like syrup made her dislike speaking in it too often. It felt wrong in her mouth, even with all their tasty treats and lovely silks to balance out their strange, soft language. She could read it well enough, she supposed, but she did hate speaking it. It made her feel less -- oh what was the world Aldous used? Royalist? Maybe that wasn’t the right word, but either way she hated it. She is a Ferelden. She is a Cousland. There isn’t anything better than that, is there?

A warm presence appears at her knee, a puppy cuddling up to her leg as she stares upward and continues to ponder. Sigmund should be with her brother though and somewhere behind her, a door snaps shut. She’s getting better at not jumping at loud noises, even if she is startled by the crash. She’s getting used to being calm in the middle of chaos, the center of the storm. That coupled with her quietness, she’s told it makes her good for war, whatever that is supposed to mean to someone hardly tall enough to reach the upper shelves of her wardrobe. Fergus says she should scare people, father fondly says she already does. Bentley has proclaimed she is a menace, but he doesn’t count.

Mother laughs, calls her a proper storm wolf and her lovely daughter.

“Fortune favors the bold,” her brother recites from behind her and Reyna smiles, all her teeth showing as she lets Bentley throw his arm over her slim shoulders. Pushing up into his strong grasp in an attempt to seem taller even under his bulk, he’ll be bigger than Fergus soon and it doesn’t work the way she wants it to. Still, her place is secure and she looks up at the boy who laughs too loud when practicing their sword work, who smiles just as wolfish as she does. Maybe he’s made for war too. “But does it favor the late? Aldous is going to have our hides.”

“Then you best run.”

“Shouldn’t it be we?”

“No. I have archery with Arl Howe and his son while they’re visiting, and then I’m to report to father for sword training. You’re required to study with Fergus about the werewolf attacks because you were caught sneaking out. _Again_.”

“I was just trying to see the soldiers come in.”

“If you’d just come with me, you’d have been able to see them from the towers.” Reyna reaches up and pulls on a piece of her brother’s hair, frowning. It wasn’t that hard to get around the castle at night, she did it all the time so that she could read after everyone else had gone to bed. They never let her read about the really interesting things, like demons and griffins and dragons, so she had to take matters into her own hands. Naturally. “I’ll show you have to be sneaky and then you won’t get caught. But you have to promise to show me how to use a flail.”

“But that won’t save me from dying of boredom _now_.”

The whine Bentley makes is enough to leave Reyna giggling, the sound bouncing off the inner walls of the castle as they turn their attention to other things than their family legacy. They race along the corridors, avoiding knights and their mother, letting her laughing rebuke bounce along behind them. Sigmund follows at their heels, forever the faithful partner in crime when Nan isn’t around to scold them all for being rambunctious. They make a good team, really, and as Bentley skids to a stop by the study door, Reyna throws her arms around his middle long enough to matter before she turns. She catches Fergus’ arm on her way out, pressing a kiss to her oldest brother’s cheek before she’s gone. He has to stay longer to study than either of them and always will. He is going to be teyrn one day, after all, and he has just enough time to ruffle hair from her braid on the way.

Still, they’ll follow when they get the chance, she knows this. It’s Bentley’s own fault for getting caught, but he’ll be able to talk his way out of study early anyways so that they can practice before father comes for them. Everyone knows it, even their father who has set up the extra lessons. It’s a matter of principle though and Reyna slips through the soldiers as quietly as she can, still learning how to glide past people without catching their notice. Some of the knights wave at her as she skitters on by, which just makes her worried she’s been louder than she should be.

If only she could find that awful Arl and his son before they began to question her lack of presence, she’ll be alright.

\--- ---

Fergus is going to be a father. It seemed highly unlikely that he was ever even going to get married, his sense of humor atrocious and too much like their father’s, but somehow he’s done both things. Bentley stares at nothing in particular, mind wandering, hair in disarray, and still in his tunic because he’s been sitting in this room since right after nightfall. Reyna is snuffling gently at his side, head against his shoulder as they wait for news on the newborn, their own father pacing in front of them. Fergus is about as well off as he is, himself, and just staring at nothing on the other side of their sister. Waiting. Mindless.

A small shudder runs through Reyna and Bentley drapes a fur mantel over her, moving aside the mess of waves that is her hair, though right now it looks more like a curtain keeping the firelight away from her walk in the Fade. He can’t remember her as a baby, he had been only two and that was, oh, fourteen years ago now. Still, he feels as if he should remember somehow, as if remembering will give him any idea on how to handle a baby, how to be an uncle. Briefly, he wonders if this child will look like them at all. Fergus is their brother, but Oriana is from Antiva, so who knows what the baby will look like. Oh Maker, it could have red hair like its mother, the poor sod. It could look nothing like a Cousland, in fact, and he stops thinking about it immediately.

Mother should have been back by now anyways, shouldn’t she? Bentley finds himself frowning for the first time since entering the room, glancing at the door, worry starting to claw its way up his back. Why is father pacing instead of doing something? Why isn’t Fergus helping somehow? Why isn’t _he_ doing anything? Maybe he’d missed something along the way, does childbirth normally take this long?

Andraste’s flaming sword, he’s never having children is this is how it goes.

He’s a warrior, more used to blood than babies, and if he can’t hit it with his sword then he has no idea how to fix things. It certainly seems like this needs fixing too, everyone is tense and there’s more people in the castle than he remembers there ever being in all his life. Cousins have come up from South Reach, in-laws have come in from across the sea, and all of the women seem to be bunched up in the room off the other antechamber while all the other men are in bed. Well, everyone except for Reyna who was pushed out of the room because of her youth. Bentley had almost laughed, she saw more of the world than any of those women, he’s sure. In fact, if things go well, they’ll be out in a hunting party soon enough to bring back a boar for celebrating with everyone.

Of course Fergus will be absent from the retinue, but they always have a good time either way. Not that they don’t need him, he’s a skilled leader, but Reyna never misses and the mountains seem to speak to her like no one else. With her, they are never lost and while she might prefer close combat with her daggers, her bow is more useful when they’re trying to catch dinner. He is no good at any of it, really, but he goes for the joy of the hunt and lifting heavy carcasses so that he’s useful for something. Can’t exactly kill a deer with a long sword, but if given the chance he’d certainly try. He can’t try if he’s not there. He’ll have to lead this one, as he normally does when Fergus is otherwise preoccupied, but --

The door creaks open before he can think any further, both Bentley and Fergus immediately reaching out to ensure Reyna doesn’t fall off the bed they’re sitting on as she startles awake. He’s sure both of them are thankfully she doesn’t have a way to hide weapons in her nightgown.

“Fergus, my dear. You have a _son_.”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence, before everything is in an uproar. People are hugging each other, cousins are spilling in from outside the room, and everyone is talking all at once. A baby is passed around not long after, cleaned and crying, quickly finding Fergus’ arms so that he may look down at little Oren and show him off with pride. Of course mother hovers and father turns away with a gleam in his eye after slapping the other’s back, but it’s a splendid success. No one has died, everyone is relatively healthy, and oh. Oh no.

“Come here, Ben. Hold your new nephew.”

He hates his brother sometimes. Bentley steps forward slowly, feels as if the whole world is watching him as he is taught how to hold the child and where to put his hands. Carefully, as if Oren is made of magic and captured wind, he lets the child rest in his arms. After a moment of staring down at the bundle, red face peeking from blue cloth, he starts to smile just a bit. It seems to scare the lad though, as the baby begins crying all over again. He tries not to panic and thinks quickly, casting his eyes about for help or a solution. Reyna, tired though she may be, catches his eye and makes a rocking motion with her arms. He mimics it, trying to be gentle or at least as gentle as his bulk can be forced into being. Technically, he has done this before and it seems to work, the child quieting and his cousins all coo around him, impressed. Most of them have done this before, however, so he doesn’t see why it’s impressive. In fact, there’s only one person in the room that hasn’t and he turns to her, sees her standing as far in the corner as she can get.

Father is a good man and gentle with his only daughter, always has been. To watch him now speak quietly to her and guide her forward, nervous as she is, Bentley understands quite suddenly why people follow Bryce Cousland. It’s like being struck by lightning to see the determination in his father’s eyes as he helps take Oren from him and deposit the baby in Reyna’s arms. He stays by her side, seemingly understands her hesitation even when Bentley is struggling to see the cause of it, and doesn’t let the baby go entirely so that Reyna is not fully responsible for it.

She looks younger than she is, holding Oren. At a year older, their mother had taken down her first Orlesian warship. At a year younger, Reyna was already proficient with a bow and on her way to mastering her roguish talents. Here and now, however, she looks like a mere child who wants nothing more than to sleep, but finds herself at the top of a precipice instead.

Few others would be able to tell that her fingers shake when they press into the swaddling. Few others would be able to tell that she looks about ready to cry, leaning down to press her nose to the child in her father’s arms. All those few are in the room with her, however, and so mother quickly returns the baby to Fergus and father distracts the cousins as Reyna disappears.

She’s good at that, sometimes too good. Bentley almost has a hard time tracking her.

Almost. After all, he’s good too.

Rarely will she stop until she’s outside under the starry sky when she is overwhelmed, but family is more important to her than her distress. The room she darts into is clean, for the most part, all the rags and water that were needed for such an event off to the side where no one has to focus on them. Reyna hugs Oriana tight once she confirms she won’t hurt her if she does, sits to speak for a moment or two, before pressing her to sleep. They weren’t as close as they could be, but they’ve been at each other’s sides so often these past few months that it’s hard to imagine what his sister must have felt like when she was thrust from the room. Now he doesn’t feel like laughing anymore and Bentley hovers until they’ve parted, finally following Reyna out.

Stepping into the moonlight of the atrium, catching movement in the shadows that signal his sister is hiding now, he waits for her to motion him forward. That signal comes in many forms and tonight, it’s a sigh as she slumps into the half light. Curling up on her perch and hugging her knees to her chest, he can hear her humming what sounds like the Chant of Light, but no words seem to be present in it despite the rhythm matching. Bentley sets himself down beside her quietly, trying to be gentle with her like their father.

“What’s wrong, pup?”

“He’s so small.”

“He’s a baby. He’s meant to be.”

“He’s small enough to lose. How are we supposed to protect something that tiny and fragile?”

Bentley isn’t quite sure what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all. Something has wormed its way into his sister’s head and it’s one of the few things he can’t fathom. The twists and turns, leaps and jumps, that her thoughts take have always left him stunned by their depth and practicality. Sometimes, however, they verge on mayhem and he thinks this may be one of those times. His own are rather straightforward, though softened into words by a noble and silver tongue, while hers often are sharp and curt even if they are not meant to have a barb. He wonders how she’ll accidentally insult someone in the next few sentences.

They really should have just let her sleep.

“I mean,” Reyna continues after a moment, voice barely there behind the tiredness and stress that comes with overthinking things. “We break things, Bentley. We’re good at it, better than we should be at our ages even. Everyone says so. Do you remember that old captain of the guard, the one that told the men to watch us carefully while we practiced? We were little, just learning our footwork, trying to figure out what kind of weapon we should use and which ones we were good at. Do you remember him?”

“Yes. Yes, I remember him. _Barely_. Reyna--”

“He said to watch us carefully because we were meant for war. I think about it sometimes. Fergus is made for peace. He’s going to be teyrn one day and Oren has secured that the Cousland line is going to continue. He’s good at diplomacy and the men like him well enough for his humor. People will respect him just like they do father, listen to him, and they’ll write him down in history books like all the other Couslands.” She turns to him with that, desperate and her eyes made of ice, and Bentley can’t help but do the same in tandem. Some said they should have been twins, but he thinks there’s more to it, the way they are together. There’s an unknown reason behind when things come to a head they find each other at their backs and he’s just not old enough or wise enough to figure it out. “But we’re not going to be teyrn, you’re going to be head of the army here or I’m going to be sent off to Denerim to serve the king. How are we expected to protect something so small then?”

“Just... hang on a minute, for Maker’s sake,” Bentley grumbles, trying to keep up. Right, so an old man once told them that they’d be good for war. Apparently, that made a far deeper impression on Reyna than it did on him because he can’t even remember the captain’s face, more or less his words. Rubbing at his eyes, he tries to figure out how to handle this, but he feels out of his depth. This is a discussion mother or father should be having with her. “Oren is small. But we’re good at protecting what’s ours. I protect you, you protect me, and we both protect Fergus, same as he protects us. Mother and father protect our people and in turn, they join the ranks of our men and protect our lands. Just because Oriana and Oren are new, that doesn’t change anything. We have cousins everywhere thanks to mother, our Arls would be happy to support our endeavors, and father is willing to give his left arm for whatever we want to do, so long as it makes us happy. We’re good at things that make us strong. Just because something is tiny doesn’t mean we’re any less worthy of protecting it because we’re big or, well, bigger in your case. We’re going to be Oren’s heroes, Reyna. Just like father, mother, and Fergus are ours. You’ve always wanted to be a hero, right?”

“He’s just… so _tiny_. He shouldn’t be around anything that has to do with war.”

“Well tough.” He’s tired, she’s tired, and they both need to rest sooner rather than later. None of this makes sense and they should be in bed. “Even if we’re sent off, it won’t be soon and it’s certainly not _now_. We’re going to be here no matter what. He won’t be tiny forever. We survived, so too shall he.”

There’s another beat that seems to verge on an uproar before everything goes silent at Reyna’s yawning laugh.

“You. That sounded ridiculous.”

“Yes, well, I’m not my best when it’s so bloody late at night. Come on, off to bed before father’s heart fails him when he sees you aren’t inside.”

“Do you really think he’ll like us?” Reyna asks, tucking under his arm as they walk back up to the living quarters. “Oren, I mean.”

“I think he’ll love us, pup.” Pressing a kiss to his sister’s hair, Bentley sends up a prayer to the Maker that he’s right. If he’s listening, if he’s even there, maybe he’ll give them this little thing. “At least, he’ll love me. I have the cool sword and boys love swords.”

“Oh? I have stories of heroes and monsters. Checkmate.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

He dunks her head in the wash water as soon as they are inside to stop her arguing, leaving all their guests confused and their parents shaking their heads. They do get a laugh out of Fergus, however, and really that’s all that matters this time around.

\--- ---

“Father’s looking for us and he has the most _pleasant_ company. Best put that away, Maker forbid that Arl Howe learns women can read and aren’t just there for a dowry.”

Reyna sighs over her book, already searching for the feather she marks her place with as her brother goes to sit down across from her. She had thought the study would keep her away from the Arl, but luck apparently was not on her side. Granted, with all the fighting going on, she hasn’t seen her father for most of the day so it will be pleasant to at least get a chance to speak with him. There’s rumors going around that there’s someone in the castle that would like to meet her, too, so this will also give her time to ask after them.

She does hope it’s not any of the Arl’s children. There’s enough letters coming in about how beautiful she is and if she’d like to spend some time with this or that lord’s son, she doesn’t need to also be pestered in person.

“That man gives me a horrible feeling,” Reyna admits under her breath, shaking her head as she pushes her book away. “Do we know why we’ve been sent for?”

“Truthfully? No, but if I were to guess it’s because Fergus is riding for Ostagar. Someone has to watch the castle and why not us.”

“Well, at least we know how.”

“Yes, let’s not try to expand our horizons or test our skills or anything,” Bentley grumbles, rolling out his shoulders as he hunches down over the table. “I should be going with Fergus. You can handle the castle yourself.”

“Yes, I could, but that’s up to father. There must be a reason he wants you here. He never does anything lightly. Not these kind of things, anyways.”

Both push back from their table and stand, falling into step easily afterwards, shoulders barely brushing. They nod at their old tutor on the way out, Reyna hopeful he will not move her book from where she’s left it, and close the door as quietly as they can behind them so as not to disrupt the lessons taking place beyond it. That old man is cranky at the best of times, but she learned much from him and hopes one day he’ll give her something like a compliment. Maybe if she cites every historical event he’s ever hammered into their heads in front of him, using them as examples for something or another while father and Fergus are gone?

“Do you think this is really a Blight?” Fergus whispers, arms crossing to stop any fidgeting as they wait for a company of soldiers to pass in the outer hallways. Many of them nod as they go by and both Reyna and her brother incline their heads back, knowing that some of these men may not come back. “Do you think these darkspawn really are just a large raid?”

“I don’t rightfully know,” Reyna murmurs, leaning on the wall beside her brother, heel finding the stones behind her as she goes still. “It does seem all a bit odd, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the one that reads all those tales about demons like this. I swear, if someone ever saw a dragon somewhere, you’d be the first to volunteer to go and slay it.”

“It’s a noble endeavor to rid the world of dangers,” Reyna argues back, voice lowering. “Besides, dragons are archdemons and you can’t just kill those. I’d have to be a--”

Bentley doesn’t let her finish, instead grabbing her arm and pulling her backwards into a crevice, blocking her from sight quickly and entirely. She stays where she’s put, lowering herself slightly to fit better into her hiding place, skirts pulled to the side to keep them from making too much noise, even if she couldn’t be heard over the marching.

“Lady Landra,” her brother says from the corner of his mouth and Reyna makes a face. “See, I knew you wouldn’t want to see her.”

“That means Dairren is already here. I thought they’d be coming in later. Maker’s breath, I don’t want to have another conversation about how I should marry that boy.”

“You don’t want to tie yourself to a man who has the same sense of humor as a fish? Shame, I thought you'd like that.”

“That’s rude and you know it,” Reyna hisses, shaking her head. “He’s a fine boy, smart and would enjoy the study here, but I’ve not seen enough of the world yet and he’s not the best with a sword. That and I’ve hardly learned to command a ship with all this war going on, so I don’t have the time to be married.”

“You have no sea legs.”

“Correct. Which is why I need more practice.”

"Obviously."

Bentley chuckles as the small group led by their mother goes by, waving and acting just well enough to have them pass by without questioning his rather strange behavior. Granted, he did tend to just stop and turn around in the middle of the corridor at times when he’d forgotten something, but Reyna can’t believe his plan works as she slides back out to his side. Peeking around the corner, holding up her hand to keep him quiet, both breathe a sigh of relief when she gives the signal they’re out of sight.

“Maybe if you don’t take him, I will.”

“Don’t. Those are not images I want in my head, thank you.”

“What? He’s well proportioned and I’m sure I can teach him to handle a--”

“I will kill you in your sleep.”

“Right. You know, I don’t know if you’re joking anymore when you say that.”

“Just. Come on, we have to meet with father and Arl Howe.”

“Joy of joys. You know, they really should be leaving Fergus here and sending us off. We’re better at bloodying up a battlefield.”

“ _Not our choice_.” Reyna stops right before the door to the great hall, pauses and turns back to her brother. Searching his face, she swallows hard as her eyes start to go unfocused and her thoughts whirl. Something is wrong, she can feel it in her bones, and she’s learned to trust her gut when fighting. Why shouldn’t she trust it now? She must go pale, however, because Bentley reaches forward to grasp her shoulders, as if she’s swayed a bit on her feet and he must keep her upright. “But we’re always going to be bloody, we can’t get out of this any other way. I -- I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Right. We’ll talk about that later. Until then, I’m here. We’ll make it through whatever comes to pass, alright. Together.”

“Promise?”

“You have my word.”

**Author's Note:**

> I started playing Dragon Age Origins again and needed someplace to put down my backgrounds for my wardens. I only have the one background right now and it's my "canon" background, in other words the one that I will be importing into the other games when I get around to owning them. That being said, I love to see the different origins of each class and race, so I wanted to leave room to post those stories as I come up with them. I normally write about superheroes, so I figured it was about time to write something else to stretch my wings a little farther. I don't often write original characters, so it'll be a challenge that I hope is fun and enlightening. Plus, I'm in a place where I can finally write down what I imagine the world of Thedas is like outside the narrative we get! 
> 
> This particular fic will be rarely updated due to the nature and length of time it takes me to complete games. I might do individual stories based on each run through of class and race, though you'll probably not see any mages here. I'm not a magic user, never have been, never will be, I find them awkward to play in any game, I'd much rather hit things with a sword in close combat. 
> 
> Anyways, this is a new fandom for me. Kind of. I've spent years here but this is the first time I'm taking part in any creative way. I have all these head canons and no one to share them with, so you get them now. Suffer with me. LoL.


End file.
